


Thistle

by SparkandSmile



Category: Alice Isn't Dead (Podcast)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Cannibalism, Food, Gen, Gore, Please Be careful, Self Harm Thoughts, hunger, so much gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkandSmile/pseuds/SparkandSmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What drives a person to eat a human being?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thistle

There was a dull aching in his gut which nothing was filling. He’d tried, God had he tried. Normal food at first: omelettes and cakes and pasta, anything which seemed like it would fill the void in his stomach. But at the end, when his stomach was so full that swallowing down food led to it being lodged in his throat instead, nowhere else for it to go, when everything in him felt stretched out; he still needed.

Well, he wasn’t an idiot, he knew the stories about vampires, werewolves, inhuman creatures. Although even the idea of it would once have horrified him, he now instead found a strange tension building up in his limbs, body aching to spring forward.

Unconsciously he flickered his tongue over his teeth, a small cut forming from where they tore into it. Blood and a small amount of pus oozed out. Had they always been that sharp? He didn’t remember, but just the metallic, briny taste of the blood magnified his hunger tenfold, and it was all he could do to stop himself tearing into his own tongue, gulping pieces down like he would a fine, rare piece of steak.

Instead he set off, a purpose in his walk that hadn’t been there for months, ever since he’d discovered that nothing he had once loved could relieve even the slightest hint of the deep, relentless, hollow which had taken up residence inside him. Before long he spotted exactly what he was looking for and, having established that there was no one around, he lunged forward.

Within moments he had the struggling bird in his hands, and he wasted no time in shoving it’s head into his mouth and couching down. The small bones of it’s neck crunched under his teeth and before it had realised what was happening he had ripped it’s head from it’s body. 

He crushed it’s small, fragile skull under his molars, grinding down until they were pressed together, and then swallowed. He waited a moment in tense anticipation, eager to see if it would relieve a single iota of pressure. Inside his gut he felt something settle for a moment, and with renewed anticipation hurled himself into his meal, ripping and tearing at the bird with abandon. Within moments there was nothing left of the thing but feathers, and a pool of blood soaking his still bare feet. He didn’t waste a second, but instead dropped to his knees and began lapping up the still warm blood on the gravel ground, uncaring of his own tongue, which was slowly being scraped raw.

Once he was satisfied every remnant of the bird was gone he leant back on his haunches, satisfied that he’d learnt how to survive with his curse. So it was at that moment that the hunger reared it’s head back up, somehow a hundred times worse now that he’d been free of it for even a few scant seconds.

Without thinking he stared up at the sky and let loose a scream of pure anguish, unable to face the hell his life had become. He collapsed into the gravel, waiting for something, anything to come and put him out of his misery. Instead he lay in the dark for what could have been aeons.

Eventually he stirred, as he heard behind him the crunch of gravel. The sounds stopped, and a voice called out to him, “Are you alright sir?” He turned to look at who was talking to him, and saw a young woman, no more than twenty, standing a few feet away, he eyes widening with horror. Too late, he looked down and saw that his hands were soaked in blood, and by the feel of the dry crust forming around his mouth, so was his face.

Unsure of what else to say, he croaked out in a voice like an old broken down wooden door scraping against the rusted nails of it’s bent hinges, “Help me.”

The woman immediately moved towards him, settling one hand on his shoulder while she leaned down to place the other under his arm, obviously aiming to help him up.

Instead, she was taken by surprise and his body twisted around fast enough to give her whiplash, and her wrist was seized in a vice like hold.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me.” she pleaded with him.

He didn’t reply, simply giving a far too wide smile full of far too sharp teeth, before crushing every bone in her wrist. She screamed out, but before she could get very far he had clasped a leathery palm over her mouth. Gazing at her with an inhuman focus, he leaned in close, his rank breath gusting over her face so that she could feel its warmth, and said, “I’m so hungry.”

Before she could do more than screw her eyes shut he had twisted her neck around 180 degrees and he watched as she crumpled, all her strings cut loose at once. She hadn’t hit the floor, however, when he had begun digging his fingernails in to her thighs, stomach, arms, anywhere with the soft flesh he needed.

At first he tried to keep some self control but before long he had given in completely and pulled half of her body up to his face while he hunched over it protectively, tearing in to the corpse as if it was nothing more than a convenient source of food.

After he had eaten his fill, and then more, he leant back and waited resignedly for the hunger to return. And waited. And waited. As it did not return he felt his elation grow; had he solved his problem?

However, soon he felt the first, muted stirrings of the beast within him, and his anger at the unfairness of it all allowed him to focus once again. When he did, he noticed that he had been sitting in front of a corpse for the last few hours, at least, and realised that, unless he wanted to be put in prison, where he would be unable to eat anything, he should leave before he was spotted.

Still, he wanted to stay there for a few moments more, to relish in the feeling of fullness he had attained at last.

At last he forced himself to get up, to walk away, but not before he rifled through the pockets of the woman and took what looked like her house keys and wallet. Opening it up he saw her address, and grinned. He might not be entirely human any more, but he wasn’t stupid, and wandering around drenched in blood was a good way to be arrested.

He knew the street, it was a relatively small town and he’d walked down it a few times. It’d take longer than usual to get there, he’d have to take the back roads, but he would be able to make it before dark.

As he walked he watched the people he passed, although they never saw him. Try as he might he couldn’t muster any kind of emotion towards them; let alone regret for what he’d done. He knew they’d do the same if they felt what he did, and besides, he wasn’t convinced they were the same species anymore, why should their deaths bother him?

Instead, as he watched them, he noticed that their eyes seemed to slide over wherever he was just a tad too quickly, as if by ignoring the movement they saw in the corner of their eye they could pretend that he was just a bad dream.

Upon noticing that he almost laughed. Poor little prey animals, he thought with a bitter shake of his head, not used to being hunted, you’d let me walk up to you and eat you alive without a word of complaint, just trying until the very end to pretend that there’s nothing that goes bump in the night.


End file.
